


Demons of Gracin Falls

by tigerdust



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerdust/pseuds/tigerdust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Halloween Spook Me livejournal challenge, my prompts were prairies and demon.  I chose to set Nick Stokes as a new reverend in a small prairie town and Greg Sanders as the son of a local prominent family who don't care for his smarts.  Greg falls for Nick, which does more damage to the town than it does to either Nick or Greg.  Fluff, no sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sun was setting low enough in the horizon that it was safe to leave. He couldn't stand the stench of sewers anymore. He felt that he would never be free of it, not completely. His knees shook as he moved, as though it required practice to remember where he had left his legs. 

I figured it out  
I was high and low  
And everything in between 

His entire body was cold, his insides empty. The world had been cruel to him; pestilence seemed his home. Every time he peered into the window of perfection, his eyesight seemed to leave him all the quicker. Maybe alone was all that some people could ever handle. 

I was wicked and wild  
And baby, you know what I mean  
Til there was you 

He came upon a grove as he walked. Howling to himself and to the moon, he laid down in an embankment, deep with snow. There were no animals for miles and no reason there should be. There was only time as it marched, brilliant and unceasing time. Time would be his undoing. 

But something went wrong  
Made a deal with the devil  
for an empty IOU 

He slept in the snow, remembering warmth as cold staggered and stabbed through his body. Death? Death wouldn't come for him, neither hell nor heaven given to caring.

Been to hell and back  
But an angel was looking through  
It was you, Yes you  
Its all because of you 

There was another kind of warmth suddenly, unexpected and frightening. The hand that reached out and touched for his skin was dazzling bright, forcing him to shrink back. He dug into the ground, afraid of the brilliance. The hand seemed unceasing although it did not move. 

You are the reason  
You are the reason I wake up every day  
And sleep through the night  
You are the reason 

He saw the eyes next. They peered at him, unfazed by appearance and demeanor. There was a mix of intrigue and pity deep within them. He could not understand this angel, who stood out brighter than the moon and yet sullied himself with the touch of someone so damned. 

Giving it up  
No more running around spinning my wheels  
You came out of my dreams  
And you made it real 

"Do not be afraid." 

The one in the ditch snarled, repulsed by the thought that he might fear anything. “What do you want?" 

The angel's voice is as sweet as the younger man's is thick. "I came to rescue you." 

I know what I feel  
It's you  
It's all because of you 

"What makes you think I need rescuing?" 

"Because we are not so unalike, you and I." 

The young man who was having the dream shot up in his bed. Gasping for breath as the patchwork quilt fell from his shoulders, Greg Sanders began to slide away from the dream and back into reality. It was a dusty morning, he could see from his attic window. Greg rubbed the sleep from his eyes and rolled his shoulder, popping a sore muscle back into place. It was close enough to sunrise.


	2. Chapter 2

The little orange truck, painted a dull brown with dust from the prairie, rolled to stop in front of the smallish chapel near the center of town. There was one stop light, in case of a misdirected visitor, and virtually no parking lines. Trucks pell mell parked behind and to the side of buildings. It was quiet, the kids having been bussed off to schools and parents carpooling to their nearby jobs. The sound of diesel in the distance greeted Reverend Nick Stokes as he leapt down from his cab. 

Grimacing from the glare of the sun, Nick reached into the front pocket of his blue button down and reached for his shades. The town hadn't much of a panoramic view, Nick didn't even need to turn his head to see that. It was early summer then, not quite hot and the kids were still in school enough that the sheriff could always drag a straggler playing hooky back. 

Nick looked at the slim three story building, complete with bell on top. It was strange for him to see, going from a bigger parish in New York to this. The chaos around here was dim at best. Nick felt like he was coming back to his roots, a place he swore he never wanted to be again. 

The whole place seemed deserted, except for a couple of cars over at the local diner. Through the windows, he could see a young woman in a yellow uniform feeding a baby. Three old men sipped coffee and laughed. Nick shook his head, checking to make sure his luggage was still upright in the backseat and then proceeded to head into the church.   
It was quiet and cool, a predictable sort of place. There was an old piano as the sound, equipped to double as an organ. Nick had only seen one like it once before at a garage sale in Poughkeepsie. He ran a key over one of the C notes and a shrill little violin noise came out of the top, making him jump a little bit. The whole place seemed startled by the sound. 

He sat on the front pew and sighed. The slits of three long, stained glass windows above the altar lead to a stone cross of a glassless window just below where he assumed the bell was rang. Nick made a guess that the bell only rang on three or four occasions out of the year, probably abject of Christmas and Easter services. Nick had half a mind to let the entire idea go when he saw the ragged red Lutheran hymnals on the edge of the wooden pew. They seemed smaller in his hands and he opened the yellow pages to the faded wording within. 

There was a cough from somewhere in the building. Nick's eyes focused on the open door to the left of the altar, where he presumed his office to be. Walking in, he didn't notice Madeleine at first. But, then again, most people didn't notice Madeleine right away. 

"I'm sorry. I missed you sitting there ma'am." 

Madeleine Sanders was a woman that was aging gracefully. Her homespun dark red cardigan kept the chill from her wizened bones. She was knitting something in a drab shade of orange that Nick could only assume was a scarf for a relative or a grandson's birthday. She looked as though she had just gotten herself a fresh perm from a nearby town's beautician when she chuckled. 

"That's no problem, young man. I'm just sitting here waiting on the new town pastor." 

Nick offered his hand out for a shake. "I'm afraid that I'm it ma'am. Rev. Nick Stokes." 

"Oh." Her face stayed in that form for a moment before she smoothed in away quickly. She offered her hand in return politely. "Forgive me if I don't get up. Old age is a wonderful excuse." 

Nick nodded. "It's alright. Hopefully I won't find out about that for awhile."

Madeleine furrowed her brow. "You do seem pretty young. What did Father Grissom tell you about our congregation?" 

Nick leaned against the large oak desk in the center of the room. "Only that this congregation had a habit of turning away new pastors." 

Madeleine chuckled. "Father Grissom must not like you very much. Our old pastor was a very dear man. We have a lot of standards in this town, only bus our children because the law said we had to. We're a very old and pious farming community, Rev. Stokes. Please bear all that in mind." 

Nick thought as he brushed his finger across his top lip. "I will. And who, might I say, is my lovely counsel at the moment?" 

Madeleine shook her head. "My, you're gonna try to worm your way into our hearts, aren't you? The name is Madeleine Sanders, proud matriarch and welcoming committee of fair town. My family for four generations has lived and worked and been preached to in this town. I serve as your welcoming committee, womens committee chair, and host of the local canning and quilting bees." 

"That's a pretty impressive resume." 

Madeleine bowed where she sat. "Well, not to brag, but I've earned my place. Now, we've gotten you a fern to water here in the office twice a week. Found that green was good oxygen for blood flow. You'll need it too as we expect a three hour service which I assume is something you are not used to. My dear son's best friend is the worship leader, I expect he'll be back from teaching about four. On the desk, in the envelope, you'll find the keys to the pastor's home near the edge of town and a first week's advance. It's not much, but if you turn tail and run, it won't be held against you." 

Nick folded his arms and smiled warmly. They really didn't expect him to last long. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Sanders. Candor is one of the more appreciated things that I enjoy about older congregations and I hope we'll both find that discretion is the better part of valour." 

Madeleine rose after folding her knitting into her purse. Nick extended his hand, assuming she was to shake it when she grabbed it with both of her own. "I'm sure you'll do fine here son. Just try not to rock the boat too hard." 

Nick looked around the room once she was gone. A couple of bookshelves, a window with homemade lace curtains and a couple of ferns book ending them both. His windows were clean, Madeleine having shined them before he had arrived. He could just barely see the side of the diner through the window, but he could see the vastness of the prairie spread out before him. 

Letting his shoulders sag a bit, Nick sat in his new office chair and opened the top left drawer. Kept in among all the miscellaneous pens was a pen knife. He sliced along the padded envelope, the sole occupant of the desk top, and let the money fall out. They key followed with a harsh clink. Nick looked at the little silver object, blinking. He wondered what on earth Gil could have been thinking, a little town like this with an urban pastor like him? 

There wasn't much more to explore in the office, just the old books and a broom closet with a very sad looking broom and mop pail. Picking up the key and the cash from the small pile on the desk, Nick left the room. He flipped the key up into the air and caught it a few times as he walked back down the only aisle of the chapel and back out to his truck. Looking back at the entirety of the place before shutting the door behind, he thought of it looking very strange and lonely. Nick suddenly felt very uneasy without being able to say why. 

The pastor's house wasn't a hard place to find. It was near the edge of town, far enough from even the main street. The lands around the house were dusty, convincing Nick that the land itself hadn't been tilled in awhile. He wondered what was best to plant in the area. Maybe corn or wheat; potatoes were a hearty crop and now would be a good time to pick up pumpkin seeds. Nick shook his head as he drove in silence. That was his father talking and he hated that voice. He sighed, knowing full well he would have to grow and contribute something or be driven stir crazy from the lack of things to do in this or any nearby town. 

The house itself was unremarkable, much like the office. A modestly comfortable bed with a homemade quilt, courtesy of Madeleine's womens bible study. A jar of homemade jam in the surprisingly up to date icebox, courtesy of Madeleine's canning and quilting bee circle. Good Amish wood furniture, no television. Nick had the stars at night, he could deal without television. 

Supper time was approaching fast and Nick knew that he probably wouldn't get back to town before the grocery store closed. He would have to hope the diner was still open or that it converted to the town bar at night as well or he might end up on an unexpected fast. He also noted that most of the stations, except for Tejano music, came in with extreme static this far out of the town. 

The tiny bell over the door of the diner rang. The harsh fluorescents above his head were set low and he blinked a little bit. The diner was empty except for a small child in a bassinet near the kitchen. Blinking with young eyes, the baby took an interest in the strange new face. Nick walked over to the little one to say hello. 

"You here to welcome me into town too?" 

The baby made an appreciative noise and grabbed for Nick's finger when he wiggled it over the baby's safe cocoon. 

Sara exited from the kitchen, noticing the man hovering over her child. She gave a weak sort of inward smile. "Gerry, I thought we agreed that...oh, you're not..." 

Nick turned, expecting an older lady. He was surprised by the waitress in the yellow button down uniform. Her short brown hair that flipped at the edges met just below her ears. She had bags under the bags under her eyes. Taking a step away from Nick, Sara nodded. 

"Welcome to the Gracin Falls Diner, sir." 

"This your kid? He's adorable." Nick pointed with his free finger since the baby was currently teething on the one it had successfully grabbed. 

Sara seemed to find an interesting spot to the left of Nick. "That's my little Jacob. Can't afford a sitter, but he's pretty quiet." 

Nick shook his head, wresting away the finger from the kid and sliding into a nearby booth. "Don't mind kids so much. Name's Nick, Rev. Stokes. I'm the new town pastor...and I'm guessing you're… Sara?" 

Sara blinked, surprised that he had guessed her name until she realized that her big green name tag was on. "Nice to meet you. Were you left the usual supplies up at the pastoring ranch?" 

Nick shrugged. "Man cannot live by canned preserves alone. Whats good to eat?" 

Sara gave a half smile. "I make the specials myself at night. I do a pretty good meatloaf and fried chicken, Fridays we do a town fish fry and Sundays we all have a barbecue which I make cornbread for, or apple pie depending upon Madeleine." 

Nick responded warmly. "You sure know how to warm a man's stomach. I don't wanna put you out much, I'll go grocery shopping in the morning. How about that meatloaf?" 

"Are mashed potatoes alright for the side?" 

"Sounds more than alright." 

Sara disappeared into the back in somewhat of a hurry. Nick turned back towards the kid. 

"Your mom's a bit jumpy, little Jake. But thats alright." 

The food was warm and plated within five minutes. Nick hadn't realized how hungry he was until he had finished his third roll with honey and had succeeded in getting Sara to blush with a compliment. Nick had just rose to say goodbye to little Jacob and leave when the bell tinkered over the door of the diner. 

While Nick stretched, he took stock of the man. He was gruff looking with longer hair and dark eyes that could make a weaker man shudder. His goatee was on the heavier side and he smelled of fairly good pipe tobacco. He was wearing jeans with paint splattered on the front and his biceps seemed to bulge out of the sides of his tan shirt. 

"You must be Rev. Stokes." The man's voice was more of a growl, but Nick tried not to show hesitation in his handshake when it was offered. 

"That would be me. Word spreads around town fast." 

"Wife is the town gossip. You probably met her." 

Nick shook the hand slowly, trying to figure out where the common ground between husband and wife stood. "You must be… Mr. Sanders." 

Gerald nodded. "Call me Gerry. I don't reckon we'll see much of each other since I'm a member of a town's congregation nearby in the little chapel I was baptized in. But you'll see my wife and one son plenty." 

Sara came up to Nick's side. "He was just paying his bill and getting on home. Got a long day tomorrow, right Reverend Stokes?" 

Nick looked at Sara. "I suppose I do. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Sanders and I hope our paths cross again." 

Gerald talked to Nick, while holding Sara's gaze. "I'm sure we will. My wife will most likely be inviting you to dinner on Sunday." 

Nick held the door open to himself. "Good evening Sara, little Jake. I'm sure I won't be rude enough to decline the invitation. I will see you on Sunday, Mr. Sanders."


	3. Chapter 3

Eviscerate is the one word that best described the elder Sanders male. The way he would spread butter on his homemade bread. The way he tore into a chicken leg with his knife. The way he talked with the side of his mouth as he masticated. Especially though, was the way he liked to try and get a rise out of Nick in regards to talking down to his wife. 

Nick hadn't much of an appetite several minutes into the meal, but he ate as politely as he could. Across the table were one empty green chair and a boy that looked too much like Gerald to ignore. Max was his father's son, a sturdy example of genetics that loved to shovel in potatoes. Nick, at once in self-preservation mode, had even discreetly moved an elbow so that mashed potato did not fly onto his light blue dress shirt. 

"You like football, reverend? Real man's game. Takes lots of skill." 

Nick replied thoughtfully. "Played defensive in college, strictly amateur flag stuff. I find competition decreases intellect in my case. Can't really afford to lose my cool." 

Gerry was stunned by the response. "Ah, well. My boys both play ball. Max is looking to be one of the lineman when he gets to high school and ole brains over there, the one missing, is out looking at plays with his coach." 

The missing son was not a topic that went unnoticed by Nick. The flash of jump in Madeleine's body when the older son was mentioned did not escape Nick's attentions either. "I thought you only had one son. You said at the diner..." 

"Well, you must have misinterpreted me preacher. I said my son would be at dinner with us. Brains is a mommas boy. Real tender, but had enough sense not to get on his poppa's bad side and find a way to the sport he should love." 

Nick set his fork down on his plate. "What‘s going on with your other son?" 

Madeleine piped in when Gerald simply shook his head and dove into another roll. "He's thinking of a more academic approach to his future. We've told him it's no good because we can't afford it but we're too rich for scholarships. No sense putting ideas of grandeur into his head." 

Gerry broke in. "You think he could have a future pastoring?" 

Max grunted in reply. "That's all he'd be good for." 

Madeleine's eyes grew wide and Gerry took a moment before he responded with a cuff to the younger son's head. "Max! We've got a holy man in the house. Don't talk like that." 

It was the first and last visit that Nick ever made to the Sanders house. It was easier to beg off dessert than he thought. Getting out of the muggy house into the cooler night air did wonders for Nick. He sat in his truck for just a moment as it idled. He sighed, letting his head fall before he backed out of the drive and headed home. 

Nick couldn't do more than shake his head and reread the letter he had memorized in his mind from Kenzi, his contact at the African church he was helping to sponsor in the building of their new town well. Grissom had inquired about his status in the small town with the forwarding of Kenzi's letter, but Nick had been too diplomatic. Every moment that seemed to pass in Gracin Falls made him a bit more uneasy. Nick felt as though he were on a log flume ride, just able to see over the top before the big splashdown. 

That splashdown would come just a month into summer. He had gotten the feel of the town and recognized that his candid friendship with Sara was hurting the relationship with his new congregation. He was startled by it to say the least, and the absence of most of the kids in town from the youth service. Everyone seemed to be trying to pull him into their rut. Recognizing Madeleine Sanders as being the one with pull in the town, Nick gestured to her as she was about to leave the Sunday service. 

"Madeleine, could I ask- and please, I want an honest answer. I’m scratching my head here- why is no one responding to my sermons?" 

Madeleine blinked, cocking her head as she spoke to the pastor. "Well, its all about choices, isn't it? You see, we here in Gracin Falls believe our pastor should be above reproach. That harlot of a waitress that you seemed to have befriended won't name the father of the child. That would be one strike against your character." 

"Do I even want to venture a guess as to what happens on the third strike?" 

Madeleine shook her head. 

Nick sighed, resting his hands on his hips as they spoke. The sun was lowering in the sky, but Nick could already feel himself beginning to sweat through his shirt. True to form, Madeleine looked sewn into her Sunday dress and cool as well as comfortable. It was hard to tell if she even blinked. 

"It's a shame. I thought most of you knew about Jesus sitting with the people they deemed sinners. Powerful visual images through much of the Parables in the four gospels, Mrs. Sanders. But I don't wish to fight you on that issue just yet. My real concern is the youth group and choir." 

Madeleine shook her head. "Reverend, you just don't seem to understand the status quo. You know that my husband, a church elder, drives those kids once a week to the youth group in a neighboring town, since their youth group is just as small. He brings them back with their ice cream cones. These kids don't need our organ or your help. We are doing just fine. We send out packages to the troops abroad once a month." 

Nick weighed her words, feeling the tension that read out as saying he should not cross her further. He understood she had pull, depth in this town. There was a sort of tragic frenzy to it that he could not understand and probably would not let go of, which was more wise than he even he cared to admit. True to form, as Madeleine walked away, Nick Stokes was already forming a plan in his mind. 

Much later in the week, Nick squinted as he walked along the path behind the bleachers. Old steel giants, collapsible and roll able based on game play, blinded him from the sides of the field. It was a spurt of heat, the collar of his shirt already sticking. Practice was in fully fury, the shouts of coaches and sounds of crushing bodies all around him. Nick's blood pumped, remembering football and the place it had in his world, the place it had shared in his youth. 

An older coach with a salt and pepper mustache pointed to a younger man across the field, jumping about and signaling with all the aggressiveness of a head cheerleader. From the back, he looked like just another scrawny eighteen year old with his future all but lying ahead of him. Ashen brown hair poked out the back of his green baseball cap. The cap and the clipboard matched, clashing with the burgundy jacket he was wearing, oblivious to the heat. 

The young man didn't turn as Nick approached. "Are you Greg Sanders?" 

"My mom would kill you if she knew you were here." 

Nick watched the profile of the boyish man with sharp eyes and teeth gnashing at gum as he spoke. From the profile, he was slightly remarkable looking and Nick hoped that he would actually be able to have a head-on conversation. Nick hoped above all that Greg's attitude wouldn't mirror that of his mother. 

"Is that a problem for you?"

Greg's gaze flitted to him amusingly. "Could be if I didn't have any excuse to not get grounded this week. Looks like their switching to offense, pull up a bleacher reverend." 

Nick followed Greg to the nearest seat and gripped his knees with his palms as he tried to find a comfortable position on the bleacher. "You can call me Nick." 

Nick was right about Greg's features. He was as handsome as his mother must have been beautiful once. The ball cap hid the unruly mop of hair which stuck out when he went to fan his brow with the sweat-soaked hat. "I'll stick with reverend for now. Seems to me that you're desperate if I'm the one you want to talk to." 

Nick shrugged, leaning back to take in the full measure of the startling-wise older boy of the Sanders clan. "Well, you weren't at Sunday dinner that week I was invited..." 

Greg chuckled. "Thank God for small miracles. Its amazing how satisfying one troubling little white lie can do for one in that town. I don't know how I'd get out of family functions if my dad didn't worship this game." 

Nick shook his head. "Shame you have to lie." 

"What would you rather I do? Turn out like the rest of them? I'm applying to a couple schools around Denver. Know that me telling you this has certain risks that could have consequences for me if you relay that message." 

"I'm not looking to blackmail, if that's what your telling me for." 

Greg turned most of his body to meet Nick's sharp gaze. For a moment, Nick thought he saw a flicker of something in Greg's eyes but the flicker died down too quickly for Nick to thought it garnered comment. "Astute, which is surprising considering the kind of bumpkins they've sent before. We're a disposable town, the whole lot of us." 

Nick shook his head. "Don‘t you think you‘re putting the cart before the horse, Greg?" 

Greg grunted, trying to hide the open scoff. "Fifteen." 

"Excuse me?" Nick furrowed his brow. 

"You have fifteen families in that town, Reverend Stokes. Thirteen of them attest to being Assembly of God. Out of those thirteen, eight carpool to various churches in the area. Out of the six remaining, three are so afraid to leave their houses on Sunday for fear of retribution from wives not being in mom's circle of quilters and canners that they're anticipating a highway build by the governor that won't ever come. The other three families are those which populate your church. Of their children, half come to your youth group." 

"I heard good things about your intelligence. Glad to see I wasn't wrong." 

Greg's voice was resigned, hollow. "Never kid a kidder, reverend. My mom's circle of protection is not charmed, my intelligence and ego are only venerated here on the battlefield of pigskin. Your world is populated by shiny, shallow demons now as mine has always been." 

"I believe Ghandi said, Stand up and you can change the world." 

Greg shook his head. "Sounds more like a Mandela mantra. But he got out of prison." 

"Hey, my dad..." 

"Doesn't compare with mine, Reverend. He calls me egghead because he fears my intellect and downplaying it is the only way to still be secure in his own masculinity, which is often eclipsed by my mother's iron grip over the town. Little Jacob receives a stipend from our family's meager funds each month, bet you can't tell me why." 

Nick spoke low, looking away after an uneasy moment as the sun blurred the bashing jerseys and helmets on the field. "Candor like that is a dangerous thing." 

"As is hope. I didn't start out wanting to lie and now I feel that it is my self-preservation. We all protect ourselves from the demons in some way." 

"Heavy stuff for a guy on the verge of turning eighteen. Besides copping out and going to a college out of state, ever thought about doing something about the situation?" 

Greg turned, squinting down toward the far end of the field where there was a play being enacted and whistles going off in the distance. His silence was enough of an answer for Nick. Under his breath, Greg mumbled something that sounded like anywhere but here.


	4. Chapter 4

Nick began showing up once a week to the high school practice after that. His office was virtually empty most of the time anyways and he found himself drawn to town's two most repressed characters, Sara and Greg. He wanted to rock the world of this little town, even if that meant drawing Madeleine's ire. 

Nick figured that ire was something he could handle. It would be a challenge though. Greg was younger than Sara, but it seemed as though their vibrancy was fading away equally. Thinking back to what Greg had said about little Jake had made sense, the final puzzle piece to what had happened in that town not so long ago. Nick was determined that, if nothing else, Greg, Sara, and little Jake would not go quietly into that waiting grave. 

Greg tapped on the side of the passenger door while the trucked idled in the lot. His eyes sparkled with amusement. "You just don't give up, do you?" 

Nick grinned. "Call me hard-headed. Seems like we both have a lot of experience in that area." 

Greg sighed, turning the handle and popping the door open so he could jump in. Once inside, he rolled the window up to a fourth so that they could talk. This was the second time that Greg had accepted Nick's invitation and it was almost like having the young man come in the church office. They shot the breeze, gained a quick level of comfort with each other and discussed a lot of things that unburdened the young man quite a bit. Nick already knew that Greg was too tight-wound, but he was surprised by the thorough way that he broke down his world and hid what he thought would bring shame to himself.   
Greg yearned to be free and Nick couldn't blame him. He was beginning to feel a creeping lethargy that couldn't quite be explained. In his prayers, in his efforts to garden, it was just something that seemed to come over him, as though a fat spell were being plopped on his otherwise insignificant little noggin. 

"Mind if we stop by Ranch de la Stokes? Need to pick up some notes before I head back into town." 

Greg shrugged noncommittally, unsuspectingly. They usually stopped for sundaes at Sara's diner afterwards, where little Jake would get doted on and Sara would crack the occasional smile when no one else was there. Pulling into the driveway, Nick smiled secretly to himself, making sure not to jerk any single muscle too early. 

In a flash, they were doing donuts across his dusty lawn. His lethargy had at least given him this one reward. Greg's eyes went wide and his body tensed as his hand shot up to the top of the cab, trying to find something to hold onto. His leg furiously pushed the air break and he yelled the pastor's name over the howls of fun echoing from the driver side. 

"NNNNNIIIIICCCCCCKKKKK!" 

Eventually, the old truck rocked to a stop. 

"Are you crazy? You could have...we could have...what if someone had...what were you thinking?! Aren't you supposed to be the adult here?!" 

Nick paused, cocking his head as he examined Greg Sanders. "Did you have fun?" 

"What kind of question is that?" 

Nick shrugged. "An honest one." 

"Well, my heart is racing and I think I've successfully conquered the age old question of if I will puke when dying in a car crash...so..." 

"That's not an answer, Greggo." 

Greg gulped. "Doesn't need to be."

Nick took his hands off the wheel. "Okay! Then we'll just do it again until you have some fun." 

"No!" Greg lunged for the wheel as though it had any control over the gas pedal. "I'm having fun! I'm having fun!" 

Nick chuckled when they settled back on the road and Greg muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like crazy Episcopalian pastors. 

A tug of war between Greg's nurtured straight jacket environment and natural exuberance of youth continued for the rest of the summer. In time, Nick watched him change like an oiled, familiar catchers glove that was learning to mold itself to fit its true nature. There was a difference in his interactions with others at school, Nick was informed. It had been a positive change, although the atmosphere in his own home had remained as stale as ever. Nick, for his part, was not as adverse to risking his own well being for the guy he was becoming very fond of. When the next Sunday came and there was no congregation left, that bothered him very little. 

What did bother him was Sara's reaction to all this. There came one week when the diner was shut down and all that he received when he banged on her door at home later in the week when she did not show up for work at all was a shaking of her head that showed the true fear of ostracism that she had. It was disheartening in some ways, but made sense in many others. Sighing, Nick had to make a decision as he looked out amongst the stars. He would save only the one which wanted it. 

The sundae social moved to the pews of the church, which made Greg remark once that he had remembered the place being much bigger. Fall had come around them finally and the ice cream had been substituted for heaps of pie from a nearby bakery that was not as fine as Sara's but would have to do. 

Outside, Max brought the truck to a stop in front of the diner. He couldn't see Sara and assumed that she had finally gone home. The place was dark, meaning that her futile efforts waiting for that new preacher would be just that. Like with everything else the bitch has done, he snarled to his own mind. 

It wasn't yet the end of twilight and yet the town seemed strangely silent and dead. A nasty, cold wind was approaching. Max looked up as he finally stepped quietly away from his car. The heavens were rumbling, which he saw as a good omen. The deep, cold wind slashing across his cheek was also a good omen to him. Hell, hail wouldn't have been discounted in the good omens department. 

Max crept across the street as a shadow. His dad had been right about the new preacher, he was headstrong and unable to cope with the soul-sucking eventuality which was the little town. He was too close to finding out about the father of Sara's child and Max could never have that. His mother had worked far too diligently covering the trail. Max was convinced that not even the egghead knew all the details. 

Max's spine stiffened at the thought of his brother. He played it off by pulling his collar high and tight across his neck, but he knew. Max thought his brother was soft and weak, one of those blasted intellectuals who ruined everything honest they touched. Max would find a way, he would make a deal with the devil if he had to. Max didn't care about souls since they gave no instruction for the growth of grain. All they did was bog you down in the little religious details which meant so little to him. 

Shadows and wind flickered but Max kept moving. He knew that he could find something incriminating in the silent pastor's past. They always had something. Using a jagged piece of pipe that he had lifted from the old man's workshop, Max jimmied the low window to the preacher's office open. Feeling the possession of power and anger, he leapt into the office. The door was closed and the office empty. 

He heard the voices as he was gently palming the lining of one of the shelves, trying desperately to find a hidden gem in the sparse place. 

Greg sighed. Max heard his brother shift in the pew. He opened the door a crack to listen into the conversation.

"I should get home. Its late." 

Nick shrugged in return, legs casually crossed over each other at the ankles while his arms were stretched out over the back of the pew. "You can stay. Its not like its a long commute." 

Greg's cheeks reddened a little. "But, I mean, I'm just a kid. You've got Sara to talk to and my parents, an entire small congregation..." 

Nick interrupted while Greg tried reaching for the next words. "That's not what life is about. Sure, I suppose I can find more things in common with them, but how many of them aren't going to be afraid to think for themselves?" 

A flashing flush of jealousy ran through Max's body as his knee quivered, crouched down by the slightly opened office door. Even if the preacher was right, he had no right trying to bring Greg above his station in the town. Nobody left Gracin Falls and ever came back. Max growled to himself at Nick's impertinence. 

Greg looked down at his lap. "That may be, but I'm still trapped here." 

"Unless I happen to pull a few strings." 

Greg looked back up at Nick, narrowing his gaze. "But I thought you were going to call in a few favors, get Father Grissom to reassign you?" 

Nick leans in closer to Greg's body, as if they're sharing a deep secret. "I could've done that, but my time is over Greg. You've got more potential than you know, you can't be afraid of it." 

"But all your sermons? All those ideas? They're wasted here." 

Nick shook his head. "My time's come and gone, Greggo. But they can live right here, in you..." 

Greg looked down at the warm hand centered on his chest, over his thumping heart. He looked back up at Nick, breath falling away for a moment. In the deepening twilight of the church, lit only by a soft set of candles near the stained glass, Greg could see the lines of age that played across Nick's face. Seeing him so young and yet so old disturbed Greg. 

"What's wrong?" 

Greg shook his head. "Do you remember weeks ago when you took me out in that beat up old truck of yours and taught me to let out a bit of my emotion doing donuts? You looked so thrilled for just a split second and now...I can't bear this...seeing you..." 

"Greggo...you can't..." 

In a flash, that moment became one of those monumental decision moments. Having Nick feel so alone in the world wasn't okay by Greg's standards and he felt like he couldn't be ashamed of his support any longer. Greg had imagined what it was like to kiss someone. The gum had been different, the intensity of the drool had been more moist, the shock and surprise overtaken by true feeling had been authentic though. 

Greg pulled away quicker than he thought he would. Scooting back from being so close to Nick in case he had just warranted a beating, Greg held his breath before his spoke. 

"Sorry." 

Max fell, the sharp quiver in his knee causing him to lean against the door and shut it solid. His mind was spinning. How many of the precious commandments was this preacher going to break? Seducing whores and intellectuals was one thing, but this was downright blasphemy playing out in the church! He had to get away, had to tell someone. Max thought of his father first and he squirmed his way around the room without bothering to put anything back in its rightful place. 

Nick didn't speak until Greg returned his gaze. "Sorry for what? I couldn't be less grateful for more comfort than what I have right now." 

"But I just..." 

Nick cut him off with a wave of his hand. "...had a natural reaction to what you were feeling. I'm one lucky guy warranting that and well, ten years ago I might have taken you up on what you're feeling." 

"What's different now?" 

Nick crinkled his nose, not sure of a good reason. "Different time, different place. Greg, you're a special young man, I grant you that." 

Greg returned to his former space next to Nick. He placed one hand over the extended arm of his mentor and first kiss, burrowing into the smell of aftershave and hope. Greg and Nick both wanted to talk into the deep of the night, but every time they tried there was simply another kiss waiting in the wind. 

Time was relative until about two in the morning when Nick finally felt a sharp draft from beneath the door of his office. Leaving a snoozing Greg to go and shut his window, Nick sauntered over to the door and opened it slowly so as not to wake the younger man. What he saw made him stifle a gasp. Bibles flung all over the place, papers strewn beneath the wet mop head in the broom closet. Greg came padding behind. 

"What's the matter?" 

Nick blinked, bracing his stomach for the words. "Someone's been here." 

Greg's face turned pale. "Oh shit."


	5. Chapter 5

Desperado  
Why don't you come to your senses  
You've been out riding fences for so long now 

There was a storm coming on the horizon. Nick could feel it in his skin as he sat on the porch. The earth all around him was quiet, the rumbling secluded from the dusty earth towards the tumultuous heavens above. He waited. He had known all his life that this would come. 

Nick Stokes had never been much of a drinker and did not intend to start now. He hated the thought that intellect could be spoiled, tongues could be made loose. And besides that, the demons had done enough damage in the town. If God was silent, a reason would be most evident. 

Nick reached for his mason jar of freezing water from the tap, taking a large swig. A bag was packed by the door, his hat propped on the top. He wasn't sure if he'd be allowed to leave, the way he could smell the fire wafting. They were burning the church, most likely, seeing as it was now unclean to them. It was something of a backwards world, no wonder. 

You're a hard one  
But I know that you've got your reasons  
These things that are pleasing you  
Hurt you somehow 

Secretly, Nick Stokes was hoping they would come for him. He was tired of running, tired of struggling, tired of making new smug acquaintances. In short, he was tired of the papacy and the expectations. He wasn't here to exorcise, to chastise, or to be any of those ise that people demanded he be. Damn it, he thought softly to himself, I am more than that. I always will be. The one thing Nick Stokes would not be was a coward. 

Don't you try the queen of diamonds, boy  
She'll beat you if she's able  
You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet 

A line of dust was coming off the horizon. He noticed it from his chair on the front porch while his legs were propped up against the failing railing. His fingers were tapping the top of the mason jar, sweating condensation in the heat. The cyclist was pedaling fast, trying to hold onto the bike and give it all the speed he could muster. 

Seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table  
But you always want the one thing  
You can't get 

"You shouldn't be here, kid." Nick squinted as he looked down, not even bothering to get up from his reclined position. "Storm's coming." 

Desperado  
You know you ain't getting no younger  
This pain and this hunger  
Are driving you home 

Greg spoke while trying to catch his breath. "But this is all my fault." 

And freedom, oh freedom  
That's just some people talking  
The real trouble is walking through this world all alone 

Nick shook his head slowly. "No, it's not. You can't blame yourself."

Ain't it just like in the wintertime  
When the sky won't snow and the sun won't shine  
And it's hard to tell the nighttime from the day 

Greg's voice came in a warble. "Then get in your old truck and go, Nick! You can outrun them, I can make an excuse for you. Any excuse will work." 

Nick took a long swig of water. "Can't let you do that, can't let you fight my battles. This town's got some demons to exorcise." 

"They'll kill you. They're burning down the church right now!" Greg pointed back, bicycle leaning between his legs until it hit the hot dirt of the prairie floor. 

Nick shrugged, taking his feet off the railing and leaning forward to address Greg. "It's just a building. I hope you've at least learned that from me." 

Well, you're swinging all the highs and lows  
Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away  
Goes away, Desperado 

Greg's voice changed from tense to almost a peaceful softness. "I've learned a lot from you Nick. Please, please just go. I couldn't bear the thought that I'm responsible for all this madness." 

Nick sauntered down from the porch after a moment, sighing. His hand came to rest on Greg's shoulder. "This has been a long time coming. You're only as responsible as time is unceasing, kiddo. As long as at least you've learned something, then my work won't have been in vain." 

Greg looked down, trying to hide the tears. "Please don't talk like they've already killed you." 

Nick cupped his hands under Greg's chin. "Hey, don't start tearing up on my account. Greggo, they've set me free. I used to worry about this all the time and now, it doesn't frighten me. Even if it hurts, I won't be scared." 

Why don't you come to your senses?  
Come down from your fences  
Come on home 

Greg looked up, tears still in the corner of his eye. "But I will be. I didn't stop this, not a word of protest. That makes me less than I already was." 

Nick gave him a small smile. "You're still learning. It's gonna be alright. Just stop blaming yourself, okay? Promise me that." 

Greg nodded slowly, looking back down at his feet. "In that case, could I at least borrow your truck?" 

"Why? Need a joyride?" Greg chuckled back and then drew Nick's attention to the dark orange duffel tied to the back of his bike. "Oh." 

Greg smirked. "Yeah. I'm taking your advice, learning things the hard way." 

Nick exhaled through his nose, finishing for the keys in his pocket. "You're a smart kid, Greg Sanders. Whatever school you choose will be luckier than any other." 

Greg put his hand over Nick's outstretched palm. "Come with me." 

It may be raining  
Oh, but there's a rainbow above you  
You'd better let somebody love you 

Nick shook his head. "I'd weigh you down. You've got a bright future, lots of dates and study groups and long pizza nights ahead." 

Greg tried to stare into those deep eyes. "I don't want those things without you." 

"But you will." Nick forced the keys into Greg's hand, glad for the warmth they shared for a just a moment. "Now get going before the lynching starts. I don't want you watching this." 

"I don't want it to happen." 

Nick nodded as he stepped back. "I know. But maybe my sacrifice will appease their angry God." 

"We both know that's not true." 

Nick said no words as he picked up Greg's bike and loaded it in the pickup, duffel and all. For a moment, they stood silently staring at each other before Nick opened the driver door. Greg shook his head, muttering something about heroism that caused Nick to smile. Thunder broke out into the sky in a huge swell, lightning crashing throughout. 

"Storm's here, kid." 

The engine rumbled as it sprang to life. But the truck wouldn't move. 

"You'd better go." 

Greg shook his head. 

"We've been through this." 

Greg shook his head for a second time, punctuating it with a motion to the passenger's seat. "Somebody's gotta keep me awake and buy the Cheetos while I'm pumping gas or I'm not going anywhere." 

Nick sighed and walked away from the truck. Greg watched nervously as he straightened the cowboy hat on his head and picked up the duffel from the front porch. Tossing it next to Greg's stuff, Nick popped open the passenger door and reclined a bit before putting on his seat belt. 

"We'd best go then." 

"Where to?" 

Nick shrugged. "You said you wanted to see Denver State. Lets start at Colorado and work our way west." 

Greg shifted, looking from the rear view mirror at kicked up clouds from the mob coming for Nick and then towards the mountains, booming with thunder and lightning. He gulped nervously, but then felt Nick's hand on top of his own. 

"It's time, Greg." 

Greg exhaled and shifted with practiced ease, letting out the clutch and speeding away from the little ranch house in the middle of nowhere. 

Oh, you'd better let somebody love you  
Before it's too late  
Before it's too late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "Desperado" by the Eagles

**Author's Note:**

> Song: The Reason by Celine Dion


End file.
